Hair Raising Adventures
by Elf Eye
Summary: Edwen Nana does a makeover of Gimli when he travels to Mirkwood with Legolas.
1. The Ultimate Bad Hair Day

**Beta: _Dragonfly_ the Dedicated**

**Someone—I think it was _Farflung_—said it would be interesting to see what would happen if Gimli encountered Edwen Nana.  Such a plot bunny could not be resisted!**

"Are you sure about this?" grumbled Gimli.  "The last time a member of my family visited Mirkwood, the accommodations were not very good—and the food was even worse!"

"Gimli, mellon-nîn," Legolas assured him, "my father is most anxious to meet you.  You will be treated like one of the family, I promise you."

"Oh, _that's_ good," replied Gimli sourly.  He had heard the tale of how Legolas had run away from Mirkwood as an elfling.  Seemingly Thranduil hadn't always gotten on with his own blood-kin, so what could a Dwarf expect of him?  Nevertheless, so deep was the Dwarf's affection for Legolas, that he subsided into silence, only muttering from time to time something that sounded like 'dungeons' and 'bread and water'.

The two were still several miles away from the Great Hall, and Legolas eagerly pointed out each landmark that they passed.

"There is the spot where I once left behind some of my hair in a spider's web."

And later:  "Yonder is where Gilglîr had to slip out of his cloak in order to escape from a spider's web."

And again: "That was where Tawarmaenas was trapped naked in a spider's web after he had gone swimming."

And once more:  "Over there Estel had to cut Glorfindel's hair in order to free him from a spider's web."

Gimli erupted again.  "Legolas," he exclaimed, "are there no landmarks that have naught to do with spiders and their webs!?"

Legolas smiled.

"On this stretch of the trail, no, but I assure you that I will take you many places associated with more pleasant memories."

"Good!" harrumphed Gimli.  When they had first entered the Forest of Mirkwood, he had found it less depressing that the agéd and stuffy Fangorn Forest, but he was beginning to reconsider.  Fangorn was populated with, among things, Huorns, who did not look kindly upon a Dwarf bearing an axe, but at least they tended not to move  (one noteworthy exception: their march to Hornburg, where a great number of Orcs had been swallowed up in the darkness beneath their boughs.)  Here in Mirkwood there were no Huorns, but Gimli now feared that at any moment spiders would rappel down silk lines right onto his back.  The skin between his shoulder blades itched most uncomfortably at the thought, and he suddenly tightened his grip around Legolas' waist.  The Elf yelped.

"Gimli!  After all this you are still not comfortable on horseback!?"

"Compared to spiders," Gimli grumbled, "I suppose horses are not so bad.  Are we there yet?'

Legolas raised his eyes to the heavens and sighed a prayer to the Valar.  Gimli had been uttering the phrase 'Are we there yet?' with increasing frequency over the past several hours, and Legolas was beginning to feel a very unelvenly sense of frustration.  He cast about for some way to distract Gimli.

"Gimli, I am packing my saddle bag to journey to Minas Tirith, and in my saddle bag I packed a wafer of lembas."

"I am packing my saddle bag to journey to Minas Tirith," Gimli said promptly, "and in my saddle bag I packed a wafer of lembas and a flagon of ale."

"I am packing my saddle bag to journey to Minas Tirith," Legolas continued, "and in my saddle bag I packed a wafer of lembas, a flagon of ale, and a flute."

Gimli rolled his eyes.  Flute indeed!

"I am packing my saddle bag to journey to Minas Tirith, and in my saddle bag I packed a wafer of lembas, a flagon of ale, a flute, and a pipe."

Legolas grimaced.  A pipe!

"I am packing my saddle bag to journey to Minas Tirith," the Elf continued grimly, "and in my saddle bag I packed a wafer of lembas, a flagon of ale, a flute, a pipe, and a clean tunic."

Gimli snorted derisively.  Leave it to Legolas to waste precious space on a superfluous garment.

 "I am packing my saddle bag to journey to Minas Tirith, and in my saddle bag I packed a wafer of lembas, a flagon of ale, a flute, a pipe, a clean tunic, and a pouch of tobacco."

Legolas gritted his teeth.

"I am packing my saddle bag to journey to Minas Tirith," he hissed, "and in my saddle bag I packed a wafer of lembas, a flagon of ale, a flute, a pipe, a clean tunic, a pouch of tobacco, and, and, a bottle of Dorwinion wine."

Gimli grinned.  Wine.  Things were looking up.

"I am packing my saddle bag to journey to Minas Tirith," he went on cheerfully, "and in my saddle bag I packed a wafer of lembas, a flagon of ale, a flute, a pipe, a clean tunic, a pouch of tobacco, a bottle of Dorwinion wine, and a wedge of cheese."

"Cheese!?"

"Aye, to go with the wine."

"Hmph!  Very well.  But your dwarven cheese smells very foul, I hope you know."

"You know nothing of cheese.  The worse it smells, the better it tastes."

Legolas shook his head but went on.

"I am packing my saddle bag to journey to Minas Tirith, and in my saddle bag I packed a wafer of lembas, a flagon of ale, a flute, a pipe, a clean tunic, a pouch of tobacco, a bottle of Dorwinion wine, a wedge of cheese, and—Ada!"

Gimli was befuddled for a moment by this addition to the saddle bag, but then he realized that Legolas was addressing an Elf of royal bearing who stood directly in front of them, flanked on one side by an Elf whom Gimli assumed must be Gilglîr the Seneschal, and on the other side by a younger Elf who must surely have been Legolas' cousin, Tawarmaenas.

"Mae govannen, Legolas," called the kingly Elf, who was, of course, Thranduil.  "Mae govannen, Master Gimli, elf-friend whose loyalty and bravery are renowned throughout all three of the elven realms."

Embarrassed, Gimli muttered into his beard.  Thranduil and Legolas shared a love of fine words, seemingly.

Legolas and Gimli dismounted, and their horse was led away by Elves who suddenly materialized from either side.  For a fleeting moment, Gimli let slip his surprise.  Legolas grinned at him.

"I knew all the time that they were there," Gimli blustered.

"Of course," replied Legolas smoothly, "for you have the eyes of an eagle and the ears of a fox."

Gimli growled at him.  Thranduil cleared his throat, interrupting the exchange between Legolas and the Dwarf.  The King politely gestured for the two friends to precede him.  A short walk later, the party was entering the Great Hall.  To his relief, Gimli felt at home at once, for most of the Great Hall lay under ground.

"You have an impressive dwelling here," Gimli enthused, addressing the King for the first time.

"Thank you, Master Gimli," replied Thranduil, "but I am well aware that these halls are nothing as compared to those of Erebor—which are themselves dwarfed, so to speak, by the magnificence of Khazad-dûm."

Gimli beamed.  Thranduil was in fact much more gracious than his son.  The Dwarf shot a triumphant look at Legolas, but the young Elf did not appear to be paying attention.  Well, he would have to rub it in later.  The magnificence of Khazad-dûm!  Now that was something like!

"You are no doubt tired and wish to refresh yourself," Thranduil was saying.  "Baths have been prepared for you.  Gilglîr will lead you thence."

Suddenly Gimli's gloating expression became rather fixed.  So father and son were alike after all—always thinking of baths.  Disguising his gloom as best he could, the Dwarf nodded and reluctantly joined Legolas in following Gilglîr to a chamber in which stood two tubs filled with warm water.  On benches by the tubs sat towels and various oils and unguents that smelled of honey and pine needles and athelas.  The cloying odor made Gimli feel a little faint.  Grumbling into his beard, Gimli stripped and reluctantly climbed into one of the tubs.  Then he looked over at Legolas and shook his head in disbelief.

"Legolas," he called, "you are as naked as a new-born mouse."

"Of course I am," Legolas called back.  "I am taking a bath.  Did you not expect me to remove my clothes?"

"You know what I mean," Gimli shot back.  "Aside from that precious mane upon your head, you are practically hairless!  Now I, on the other hand," he gloated, looking down at his furry chest, "am well-equipped in that department."  Admiringly, the Dwarf stretched out his equally hirsute arms.

"I am well-equipped in other ways," Legolas replied teasingly.

Before Gimli could retort, the door opened, and to the horror of the Dwarf, in strolled a female Elf.  Gimli sank down into the water and drew up his knees, hoping that his beard and folded legs combined would cover his parts.

"Legolas," he hissed through his teeth, "there is, ahem, a lady in the chamber."

Legolas, however, seemed unabashed.

"Mae govannen, Edwen Nana," he called cheerily.  "Still you will not give over superintending my bath!"  Over the years he had become accustomed to these intrusions by his doting nursemaid.

"Of course I will not, Laiqua.  It is all very well to allow these servants to haul the water to fill the tubs, but someone has got to check to see that the water is not too scalding or too frigid."

"I assure you, my Lady," called Gimli, "that the water in this tub is perfect in every way.  You needn't trouble yourself to check it."  The Dwarf was exceptionally red-faced—which is saying a lot, for his complexion was florid to start with.

"Oh, 'tis no trouble at all," Edwen Nana assured him airily as she descended upon him.  In best nurse-maid fashion, she dipped an elbow into the water as Gimli shrank to the other side of the tub."

"Hmm.  A trifle cool, I should think."

Going to the brazier, she seized the kettle of water that rested upon it, and, returning to Gimli's tub, little by little she poured the contents of the kettle into the cauldron, stopping frequently to check the temperature of the water.  At length she was satisfied and turned her attention to the water in Legolas' tub.  The young Elf was singing and scrubbing merrily away and paid her no mind.  As for Gimli, seeing that Edwen Nana was now preoccupied with Legolas' tub, he began to relax a little, although you may be sure that he kept his legs drawn up.

At length, however, Edwen Nana was satisfied that her belovéd 'Laiqua' would neither freeze nor burn, and she looked about for something else to do.  She fixed upon Gimli's hair and beard.  Seizing combs, brushes, and clippers, she swooped down upon the unfortunate Dwarf.

"I declare, you look as if you have never cut your hair this last Age, no, nor trimmed your beard, neither!"

Legolas stopped bathing and looked on with great interest.  He had often appealed to Gimli to tidy up his hair and his beard—'your head looks like the rear end of a warthog', the Elf had once exclaimed in frustration—but Gimli had always disregarded his appeals.  Would Edwen Nana prove more persuasive?

At first it was difficult to say how the nursemaid was getting on.  Great plumes of water leaped into the air, and bubbles filled the room.  For all his excellent vision, Legolas could not make out what was happening behind the vaporous curtain.  Certainly there was a great deal of shrieking and howling, but he did not know what it signified.

At length, however, both the water and the yelling subsided, and the head of Gimli in all its glory was revealed.  All tangles had been removed from his hair and—were those curls?  And could those be ribbons securing the braids?  As for Gimli's beard, well, had this been a later Age, Legolas would have described it as in fashion resembling a Van Dyke.  Suffice it to say, that it was dapper and trim.  Satisfied, Edwen Nana put her hands on her hips and surveyed the unfortunate Dwarf.

"There now," she said, supremely complacent.  "You are much improved, Master Dwarf." Then, no doubt inspired by her success, she turned to gaze upon Legolas, no doubt contemplating what improvements she might effect upon that Elf, well-groomed though he was.  Legolas shot up out of his tub and fled from the room without benefit of towel, startling—and no doubt pleasing—several ellith as he fled down the corridor to his chamber.

This was very ungracious of Legolas, for he had left his friend in the lurch, and, now having no other target in view, Edwen Nana proceeded to anoint and sprinkle the Dwarf until he smelled like a garden.  It seemed to him that an Age passed before she at length judged him to be sufficiently clean to be released from his bath.  He did stop for a towel, but for nothing else, and with it draped around his middle, he too startled—but probably did not please—several ellith as he fled in the footsteps of his friend.

Safe at last in the company of Legolas, Gimli glared balefully at the young Elf.  Legolas sought for words to placate and console the Dwarf, who, mortified, soon was gazing into a looking glass.

"Legolas, it took me decades—decades!—to achieve those braids!"

"Gimli, you look elegant, you truly do.  You look, you look—"

"—stupid," said Gimli flatly.

Legolas sighed.  Gimli's words could not be gainsaid.

"You do not look _very_ stupid," he tried.  "And consider this: we will be staying in Mirkwood for several months.  The Elves will not find your appearance odd, and perchance no Dwarves will visit.  By the time we depart for Esgaroth and then Erebor, you will not look so bad.  Why, as soon as we are out of sight of the Great Hall and Edwen Nana, we can hunt up some burrs and stick them in your beard.  And some cobwebs in your hair—yes, that will do nicely."

With promises such as these, Gimli was eventually mollified.  You may be sure, however, that during the remainder of his stay in Mirkwood, he never entered another tub without first checking to see that the door was barred.  And after he departed Mirkwood, some say that he never entered another tub at all!  The latter claim seems a trifle farfetched.  Still, it must be allowed that many strange things happened at the close of the Third Age and the beginning of the Fourth.  It was exceedingly strange than an Elf should bathe a Dwarf; it would have been no stranger had that Dwarf gone on to develop an enduring dislike for soap and water (especially considering that he was not too fond of washing in the first place).  Yet it must be remembered that the Dwarf continued to journey in the company of Legolas and is reported to have at last departed with that Elf for the Uttermost West.  Somehow this Author doubts that Legolas could have borne several decades, let alone an eternity, in the company of an unwashed Dwarf!  Let us believe, then, that Gimli's aversion to cleanliness was only a temporary one and that he at last recovered from his encounter with that most memorable of Elves, the redoubtable Edwen Nana.


	2. The War Of The Robe

**Beta reader: Dragonfly the Diligent**

**People seemed to have enjoyed the interplay between Gimli and Edwen Nana, so I'm adding a new chapter that features the nursemaid and another character. _Farflung_, you may notice two lines that I lifted from your review. The Tolkien quotations from LOTR come from TTT, Bk. III, Chap. 11, "The Palantír."**

_Starlit Hope: _Thank you!

_MoroTheWolfGod__:_Hey, it's good to hear from you!

_Farflung__: _Yes, there is a scene in Troy in which you are only a fraction of an inch from seeing Orlando Bloom's bare essentials. Enjoy! _I've_ already gone twice.

_Dragonfly: _Hope this one gives you a few giggles, too.

_Melissa: _This chapter should be good for a few additional laughs, I hope.

_Karri: _Glad to have been of service!

_SilentBanshee__: _Oh, you liked that game, eh? I looking to see if I can fit in another travel game, 'I spy something [red or blue or whatever]'.

_Joee__: _Your wish, as always, is my command. Here is a second 'hair-raising tale'.

Everyone was fond of Edwen Nana. In the Fourth Age, even the Dwarf Gimli became attached to her after he had had a chance to recover from the shock of her tonsorial assault upon his person. Warriors wield swords and spears; Edwen Nana wielded combs and shears. Everyone knew this to be so, and in her presence all took care to cover their hair if it happened to be untidy or in need of a wash. She would swoop down upon anyone who neglected to take this precaution, and, willy nilly, the unfortunate malefactor would find his hair being twisted and pulled and scrubbed into a respectable state. Even Thranduil was not safe from her ministrations.

In all her long years serving in the Great Hall, there was one person, however, with whom Edwen Nana had hesitated to trifle—a Maia, actually. That would have been Gandalf, of course.

To Edwen Nana, Gandalf was a walking affront to tidiness. Whenever he appeared at the Great Hall, his cloak would be torn, the hem and sleeves of his robe would be splattered with mud, his fingernails would be grimed, and his boots scuffed. Before the great War of the Ring, there was only one time that he passed sartorial muster, and that was the occasion when he arrived wearing an elegant robe that he had borrowed from Saruman because the robe he had been wearing—which itself had been borrowed from Erestor—had been shredded as he forced his way through a thicket.

After the War of the Ring, when Gandalf had formally assumed the mantle of the White Wizard, Edwen Nana found his appearance less objectionable, although she still clucked her tongue at his wild fly-away beard and his hair, which, to her mind, required much more attention than the strip of cloth with which he occasionally pulled it back into a pony tail. The events in this episode, however, took place before the War, near the end of the Third Age, when Edwen Nana still found both his garb and his hair to be dreadfully offensive.

Matters came to a head, so to speak, after Gandalf had been roaming about in pursuit of some peculiar creature that the wizard insisted would be the ruin of the West if it were not captured and questioned. Seemingly, this creature preferred the most loathsome of locales, for one day, after fruitlessly pursuing his quarry for several months, Gandalf stank of muck and mire when he wearily dragged himself into the Hall. Aragorn was visiting Mirkwood at the time, and so filthy was the wizard, that even the grimy Ranger found his presence unbearable. Certainly this was a most extraordinary turnabout of the usual state of affairs! As for Legolas, for the first time in his immortal life, he wished the Maia would light up his pipe, for he believed that the odor of pipeweed would have been much preferable to the reek of the Istar.

A bath was at once drawn for the wizard, and, after first checking to see that the door was bolted—Gandalf knew Edwen Nana's reputation!—he sank into it with a sigh. He had not, however, consented to having his clothes taken away for laundering, and those garments lay on a bench by the tub as he bathed.

"I will brush my cloak and robe," he had told Thranduil when the King offered to have the wizard's clothes cared for, "for I am only stopping the one night to ask Aragorn to take up the hunt for the creature Gollum. There would be no time for my garments to dry, and I do not wish to wander the wild in a damp robe and cloak."

Thranduil had furnished him with a nightdress so that he would not have to put on his dirty clothes straightaway, but in the morning he planned to don them again and set out once more.

To Edwen Nana, however, this was tantamount to blasphemy. Putting dirty clothes on a clean body! She would never countenance such barbaric behavior! If only she could quickly sew a grey robe that Gandalf might be prevailed upon to wear in the morning. Ai! Edwen Nana was a talented seamstress, and mayhap she could have pieced together a gown in one night, but there was no grey cloth to hand, and Gandalf was very stubborn on that score. "I am the Grey Wizard," he would declare. "Not White, not Brown—Grey!" Very well then! She resolved that she would somehow spirit away the wizard's clothes so that he would be forced to remain in Mirkwood whilst they were laundered and mended.

Perhaps Gandalf anticipated some such attempt, for he hugged his bundle of clothes to his chest as he walked from the bathing chamber to his room. Once in the chamber, he did not set the garments down until he was certain that the door had been locked. After turning the key, Gandalf rattled the handle to be sure that the door was quite secure. Only then did he relax. After smoking for a little while, he at length set down his pipe, snuffed the candle, and turned in.

No lock, however, could deter Edwen Nana, as both Tawarmaenas and Legolas had learned to their grief (but occasionally to their relief as well—Edwen Nana had developed her lock-picking talent in order to be able to quickly rescue elflings, for it is a well known fact that younglings have an unaccountable fondness for getting themselves locked into rooms, wardrobes, and trunks.) Standing quietly by the door, she had seen the strip of light vanish when Gandalf had snuffed the candle. She waited, however, until she no longer smelled the odor of pipeweed, for she judged that by then the wizard would surely be asleep. Quickly and expertly, she picked the lock and slipped into the chamber. She moved without a sound not only because she was an Elf, but also because she was a naneth, and all mothers, Elf, Dwarf or Man, are practiced at creeping into bedchambers to check on their sleeping babes. Not even Glorfindel could have moved as quietly as Edwen Nana did that night.

She walked softly to where Gandalf lay. She looked down at him. The wizard seemed asleep, but with lids not fully closed: there was a glitter of eyes under his long lashes. Edwen Nana stepped back hastily. But Gandalf made no sign; and, drawn by determination and stubbornness, Edwen Nana crept up again from behind the wizard's head. His clothes, rolled into a tight ball, lay close by him, between his right arm and his bent elbow. His hand seemed only just to have slipped off the bundle.

Edwen Nana looked about the room. There lay a towel. Carefully she rolled it into a ball. Then, moving swiftly, she eased the bundle away from Gandalf and quickly substituted the towel. At that moment Gandalf moved in his sleep, and muttered some words: they seemed to be in a strange tongue; his hand groped out and clasped the balled-up towel, then he sighed and relaxed once more.

Unfortunately, Edwen Nana's triumph was to be short lived. As she stepped back from the bed, she tripped over the wizard's staff, which had been resting against the footboard. It clattered to the ground. In a trice, Gandalf was awake and springing from the bed. Edwen Nana kicked the staff under the bed so that the wizard could not make use of it, but Gandalf seized the end of his garments and gave a mighty yank. The robe came out of Edwen Nana's hands, but she did manage to maintain her grip on the cloak. Gandalf flung the robe to the side and then tried to pull the cloak away from her. A mighty tug of war ensued. First one, then the other had the advantage, but all in all it was pretty much a stalemate.

Suddenly Edwen Nana released her grip on the cloak, and Gandalf fell over backwards, tumbling head over heels across the bed, flipping right over the mattress and landing on the floor on the other side. He came to rest with his head down and his legs up. His nightdress, of course, pooled around his shoulders, and Gandalf let out a yelp when he felt the night air upon his nether regions. He at once let go the cloak and made a grab for the nightdress to tug it upwards towards his knees.

"Hah," crowed Edwen Nana, seizing the abandoned cloak and tossing it in the direction of the door. Now for the robe! She stalked toward it with the intensity of a wildcat absorbed in the hunting of its prey. Gandalf, however, righted himself and scrambled toward the garment. The adversaries reached it nearly simultaneously. Edwen Nana flung herself on top of the robe, and Gandalf flung himself on top of _her_.

Unfortunately for Gandalf, it was at that very moment that Aragorn, attracted by the noise of the scuffle, came leaping into the room, sword in one hand, torch in the other. He was met by the astonishing sight of Gandalf sprawled on top of Edwen Nana, who, as she had got her hands on the robe, was smiling with delight. This set of circumstances of course led Aragorn to a mistaken conclusion.

"Oh, Gandalf, I _am_ sorry," he stammered in dismay. "I did not mean to intrude. I will leave at once."

"No! No! No!" shouted Gandalf at his retreating back. "Come back here—oh, be still!"

Edwen Nana, a shrewd elleth, had immediately perceived what the Ranger was thinking, and she was giggling uncontrollably. The wizard rolled off her and stood up.

"Oh, Mordor take it," he huffed. "Launder those wretched garments if you must. I will depart tomorrow in soggy clothes, and it will be your fault if I develop pneumonia and perish in the wild. Then Middle Earth will fall to the forces of the Dark Lord, and your fixation on cleanliness will be entirely to blame!"

"Tell me, Master Mithrandir," retorted Edwin Nana, "for how long have you wandered Middle Earth?"

"Oh, I can't think offhand—a millennium or so, I suppose."

"And do you really think that remaining a few days in Greenwood will prove such a blow to your grand scheme? And, really, how will you even be able to creep up upon your prey if it can smell you coming? The birds themselves shall soon be dropping from the sky as you pass beneath them, for they will be overcome by the stench of your garments. Why, I imagine there are some Orcs smell better than you do!"

"You know little of Orcs, woman! I smell nothing like one. Perhaps somewhat like a Troll, yes, I will concede that. But I will not be compared to an Orc!"

"Oh, a _Troll_! _That's_ nice!"

"Silence! I have already said that you may wash my garments. What more would you have!?"

"Well, Master Mithrandir, if you don't mind me saying so—"

"I do!"

"—your beard and hair," Edwen Nana continued unperturbed, "have clearly not been trimmed since Círdan bid you welcome at the Grey Havens. Doesn't that shaggy mane of yours get in the way when you go into battle? How can you even see to slay your foes? And that bushy and tangled beard! It is lucky that you are a fighter, not a lover, for should a maiden wish to kiss you, 'twould take her ten minutes to find your lips!"

"That has never been a problem in the past!" huffed the wizard.

"Oh, I doubt that!" scoffed Edwen Nana.

"You don't believe me," growled the Istar, moving toward Edwen Nana, his eyes dark. (This latter phrase, 'his eyes dark' is required according to the rules governing fan fiction passion, which read as follows: "No character is permitted to enter into a state of arousal unless his eyes turn dark. If necessary, stop the action so that character may insert contact lenses. For additional requirements for scenes involving passion, see under 'bruised and swollen lips' and 'aching manhood'.")

A little while later, Gandalf was lying in his bed, smoking his pipe and looking very relaxed and satisfied. "That will teach her to meddle with my staff," he gloated. Suddenly, however, it occurred to him the 'her' in question, had succeeded in not only making off with his leggings, cloak, and robe, but also his nightdress, which had somehow been dispensed with at some point. The wizard was altogether in the altogether, save for the sheet that he now anxiously clutched to himself, as if he feared that Edwen Nana would suddenly reappear and reive that as well.

"Oh," he groaned, "my plight has never been worse, no, not even when that warg was pursuing me so doggedly. Yes, it is indeed worse to have a woman on one's tail than a warg."

As for Edwen Nana, she sat contentedly by the bushes where Gandalf's garments had been spread to dry. The cloth was heavy and the day overcast, so it would take at least one full day for them to be ready, mayhap longer. In the meanwhile, she had sent to Lake-town for several bolts of sturdy grey stuff.

"I shall sew several garments for him," she thought happily. "At least one set will be to hand whenever he visits the Great Hall. He will be able to change into fresh clothes and leave the dirty ones to be washed so that they will be waiting for him upon his return. Yes, that plan will do nicely. Indeed, I shall send garments to be kept at Imladris and Lothlórien as well. He will never want for grey robes. White, of course, would suit him better, but it would never do to dress him in that color, for it shows dirt too easily." Edwen Nana sighed. "Well, mayhap someday, when he is less of a rolling stone. Now, what to do about his hair," she mused. "That will, I believe, require a return visit to his bedchamber."

Gandalf stayed another fortnight in the Great Hall, and each morning the Elves were puzzled to notice that Gandalf's hair and beard seemed to be a little shorter, a little tidier, than they had been when he had retired the night before. None of the Elves could account for this strange state of affairs. In fact, in all the years to come, whenever Gandalf visited in Mirkwood, this phenomenon reoccurred. Aragorn did have his ideas about the matter, but he kept them to himself. Well, he may have shared his thoughts with his good friend Legolas, for that Elf rearranged the rooms somewhat so that Gandalf had a chamber next to Edwen Nana's. Of course, this may have been a coincidence. I will leave it to you to make up your own mind upon the matter.


	3. Clothes Make The Man

**Beta reader: _Dragonfly_ the Dauntless**

_Starlit Hope:_ Hmm. I'll have to see if there is a way to allow Aragorn to mention it. I can just see Gandalf hissing, "Shut up, Aragorn. Shut up!" And the Hobbits' eyes getting bigger and bigger! Oh, dear, this is going to be irresistible. Yes! Aragorn offering to tell the Hobbits a story to cheer their spirits in Moria!

_Silent Banshee: _Wait until you see what I am going to do to Gandalf in the third chapter of "The Clearing"!

_Karri: _True. Edwen Nana is starting to turn into a character in her own right.

_Melissa: _Yes, poor Aragorn thought he was getting an eyeful, didn't he.

_Farflung__: _Uh oh, you're making odd noises again. I hope I'm not responsible for someday getting you hauled off in a white weskit. Thank you for your comments about Edwen Nana. As I was just saying to _Karri_, she seems to have developed as a character. Has your daughter's graduation party come off yet, or are you still preparing? My daughter is starting ninth grade in the fall. Suddenly my child's impending adulthood does not seem so far in the future. Sigh. Scurries back to the refuge she has created in Arda.

_Dragonfly: _I've got to confess that I, too, would go for the scruffy Ranger over the carefully coiffed King. On the other hand, if someone were to so much as disturb a hair of Legolas' head…. Go figure.

_Joee__: _You're right. No one is safe from Edwen Nana. I think I'm going to pour over pictures of Elrond until I find one in which a garment is askew. Then I am going to unleash the nursemaid on him. Can you imagine him desperately scurrying through the gardens of Rivendell, looking for a badger hole to crawl into?

Chapter 3: Clothes Make the Man

Edwen Nana's campaign for cleanliness faced few targets as challenging as Aragorn son of Arathorn. The nursemaid went on high alert the moment she met little Estel, and she did not stand down until years later when he was appropriately garbed and coiffed as Elessar Telcontar, King of Gondor. Indeed, even after he assumed the robes of a king, she would still periodically insist on checking his nails and rummaging through his wardrobe. This she did with both the knowledge and connivance of his Queen, Arwen Evenstar, who, although she loved Aragorn enough to forfeit her immortal life, had been heard to exclaim in exasperation that his cheeks could have been used to sand wood. Presumably she was referring to his face.

For obvious reasons, when Aragorn was little, he stood a much better chance of evading Edwen Nana than he did as a King. Young Estel hid under tables, behind tapestries, and inside wardrobes. Sometimes these attempts at avoiding the nursemaid's attentions backfired. On one memorable occasion, Estel became wedged in a tunnel in the dungeon and had to be dug out by Dwarves. On other occasions, though, he was able to postpone for hours—even days—the moment of reckoning. As King, however, he no longer had the option of secreting himself in an odd corner. He had duties that required his attention. Besides, he was too large.

It was thus with a mixture of pleasure and trepidation that Aragorn welcomed Edwen Nana on one of her visits to Minas Tirith. She came in the company of Legolas and Gimli, who were on their way to Ithilien after a brief stay in Mirkwood to reassure Thranduil that his son had indeed come through the War unscathed. Gimli looked very presentable, which meant that Edwen Nana had already gone after him. The Dwarf's nails were clean, his hair smooth, his beard carefully braided. Even his eyebrows had been trimmed! Still, in spite of the effort that must have gone into tidying up Gimli, it was immediately apparent to Aragorn that Edwen Nana had plenty of energy left to expend upon him. She surveyed him up and down and frowned.

"Estel"—to Edwen Nana he would always be 'Estel', just as Legolas was always 'Laiqua'—"Estel, that cuff is rather frayed."

"I was telling him that this morning," said Arwen eagerly, "but he says that the blouse is so comfortable that he cannot bear to part with it."

"Tunic," corrected Aragorn. "It is a tunic."

Edwen Nana and Arwen ignored him. They did not understand why Men objected to describing a Man's upper garment as a 'blouse'. It was a perfectly good word that had been used in that fashion for centuries, and it was only within the last decade or so that Men had begun to object to the word when it was applied to a garment that they might wear. Arwen had also noticed that Aragorn was beginning to get a little 'tetchy' on the subject of his nightdress. "Can't you call it at 'nightshirt'," he would beg, "or at least a 'nightgown'? Anything but a nightdress, please!" The Valar be thanked that Mithrandir seemed to have no such scruples about wearing dresses and gowns, day or night—aye, and calling them that, as well! At least one member of the Fellowship had some sense. For now, though, Edwen Nana concentrated on the matter of the frayed cuff.

"Arwen, my dear, if Estel is so set on continuing to wear that blouse, I shall show you how to make over the cuffs. Why, Laiqua has some blouses that he has been wearing for decades. Nothing is left of the original cuffs or collars, to be sure, but the main body of the garment will remain serviceable much longer than those portions. Of course, Laiqua has never been as hard on his clothes as Estel."

"True," agreed Arwen. "Legolas can slay one hundred Orcs before he need change to fresh garments. With Aragorn, after ten Orcs, his clothes are ruined. _I_ don't think he always remembers to fasten his armor, but he insists that he does."

Edwen Nana shook her head, clucking her tongue.

"Of course," she pointed out, "we must allow that Estel is a little more likely to be in close combat than Laiqua is. Laiqua's preferred weapon is the bow, and that puts some distance between him and the blood and the muck."

"Yes," agreed Arwen, "but even when Aragorn uses his bow, he gets dirtier than Legolas, and when Legolas goes into battle wielding his two blades, he comes out cleaner than any of his companions."

Aragorn was standing by impatiently as the ladies discussed his clothes and appearance.

"Your pardon," he said at last, "but today I had planned to inspect the outlying fortifications. You will excuse me. I needs must change my garments."

If Edwen Nana had been animated before, now she was doubly so.

"Arwen, I should o'erlook his clothes, should I not?"

"Oh, yes," said Arwen enthusiastically. "Please do."

With a great effort, Aragorn kept himself from groaning. At least there was a screen in his chamber, he thought. Maybe he could convince Edwen Nana to stand on the far side of the screen while he dressed. He wasn't too optimistic on that score, however.

To his relief, Edwen Nana did stay on the far side of the screen, but only because she became engrossed in rummaging through his wardrobe.

"Estel, these leggings are out at the seat. Not even the most talented seamstress could make them over."

Aragorn peeked around the corner of the screen.

"But, Nana, I wore those leggings on the Paths of the Dead!"

"And that is where they belong! You should have left them there!"

"I couldn't very well have fought on the Field of Pelennor bare-legged! The Orcs would have died laughing."

"Would have saved you quite a lot of trouble if they had done so. Aye, and 'twould have been a happy end for the Orcs, too!"

"Nana!"

"Why ever are you holding on to this old grey cloak? It is very badly stained."

"Nana, that's my Lórien cloak! Galadriel gave it me! Her maidens wove the cloth with their own hands."

"Well, I didn't expect that they'd use their feet!" the nursemaid replied tartly. "What about this cloak then?"

"I was wearing that when I first met the Ring-bearer. It has sentimental value."

"That's the only value it has!" snorted Edwen Nana. "Ah, now here's something like!"

Smiling with approval, she held up a sleeveless, knee-length surcoat. It was steel gray, with embroidery about the neck placket. "Simple and understated, but elegant for that very reason."

"Yes, I wore that to the Council of Elrond. Didn't impress Boromir, though," Aragorn added thoughtfully. Nothing impressed Boromir. No, not until the end, when it was too late for impressions to mean anything anyway.

Suddenly Aragorn realized that Edwen Nana was holding up Boromir's vambraces, peering at them doubtfully.

"Nana," he cried, leaping from behind the screen—without his leggings, it may be noted—"those are very special to me! Pray leave them be!"

Moved by the intensity in Aragorn's voice, Edwen Nana carefully set them aside.

"I have never seen you wear them," she observed.

"No, not since the battle before the Gates of Mordor. But they are to be preserved as heirlooms. So, too, I have preserved the Orc-rags worn by Samwise and Frodo in that land. Not all clothes are for wearing, Nana. Some are for memory."

"True," said Edwen Nana softly. "I still preserve the tunic Laiqua was wearing the day he was taken from me and carried away to the Great Hall. That brute of a captain had cast it aside upon the trail, and it had been trampled by many riders, but I had followed after and retrieved it. I washed it and mended it and have kept it ever since."

Aragorn smiled gently at her. For all her brusqueness, her heart was filled with nothing but love.

"Does Legolas know this?"

"Oh, no. I am sure he has forgotten all about that tunic."

"No, he has not, Nana. You may be certain of that. One day as we were changing, he looked at the cloth of his tunic and said, 'This is very fine stuff, but it will never be as dear to me as the tunics that my nursemaid sewed for me when I was a little elfling. She used to embroider them with the animals that most delighted me. I remember one in particular, the tunic she embroidered for me to wear to the Great Hall. It was taken away from me, and to me that was a great grief, second only to the loss of Edwen Nana herself'."

Edwen Nana rubbed her eyes, muttering about the dust that accumulated upon the clutter in Aragorn's wardrobe. Then she resumed rummaging about, finding a few oddments that she could discard without any objections from Aragorn. Aragorn, meanwhile, relieved that she had not commented upon his bare legs, slipped back behind the screen and finished dressing. When he came out again, she cast a critical eye upon him.

"Estel, tighten your girdle. 'Tis slipping."

"Um, Edwen Nana, I don't wear a girdle."

"Of course you do! There 'tis around your middle!"

"That's not a girdle; that's a belt."

"Girdle or belt, it needs to be tightened!"

Obediently, Aragorn adjusted his girdle, or what have you. Edwen Nana turned her attention to his legs.

"Estel, straighten your hose. 'Tis crooked."

"I don't wear hose, Edwen Nana."

"Stuff and nonsense! I can see very well that your feet are clad in hose!"

"Not hose," repeated Aragorn stubbornly.

"Stockings, then!"

"Not stockings neither!"

"What then?"

"Um—socks."

"Socks. Socks! SOCKS! What sort of barbarian word is _that_!?"

"It's a Mannish word, and I am, in fact, a Man, Edwen Nana."

"Yes, and I've never held that against you, Estel, but in the past you have always done your best to overcome that unfortunate circumstance. Now you seem to be embracing that aspect of your background rather than seeking to surmount it."

"Well," said Aragorn defensively, "I did resist the lure of the One Ring."

"And that's another thing, Estel. Just because you were put off by one ring, that doesn't mean all rings are bad. A little bodily adornment would help dress you up quite a bit. Oh, I know that you wear Arwen's pendant, but you needn't confine yourself to that one item of jewelry. Why don't you wear the ring of Barahir more often? That star of Elendil, the Elendilmir I think they call it, is also a very striking ornament. I know that you say that it is for ceremonial occasions, but as you are King, are not all occasions ceremonial to a degree? You have noticed, haven't you, that Laiqua, who is, after all, the Prince of Greenwood _and_ Lord of Ithilien, has taken to wearing several rings. And have you noticed his necklaces? They make him look quite dashing—not that he needed much help in that department, mind you!"

"Chains," said Aragorn desperately. "Not necklaces—chains! Legolas-does-not-wear-necklaces!"

Ignoring him, Edwen Nana rattled on.

"And Mithrandir, who looks so elegant now that he wears that white robe—although I wish he had let _me_ do the embroidery—have you noticed his fetching earring? Pity he won't wear a pair of them, though—he has just the one. In his left ear, was it? Or was it the right? I can't quite remember."

"Left," said Aragorn distractedly, rubbing one foot over the other.

"Estel," chided Edwen Nana, "you will scuff your slippers if you keep that up."

"I don't wear 'slippers'," Nana," Aragorn protested. "At least not outside my bedchamber."

Edwen Nana rolled her eyes.

"Next you'll be saying you don't wear gowns and robes outside your bedchamber, neither."

"I prefer not to," avowed Aragorn. "I know Elrond always looks elegant in his gowns, but mine have never suited me. I don't have the figure for it. And only Mithrandir can pull off wearing his robe as he does."

"Oh, put on your cloak," exclaimed Edwen Nana in exasperation.

"I don't wear a cloak anymore," said Aragorn.

"Your cape, then!"

"Don't wear one of those, neither."

"Then what _do_ you wear to protect yourself from the elements!?"

"A poncho."

"A what?"

"A poncho. They're very manly."

"Manly! Is that all you can think about—being manly?"

"It is necessary. Mithrandir says that I must be a Man's Man!"

"That's an odd turn of phrase. I don't think it would have mattered before if you were a Man's Man, but under the current circumstances, would it not make more sense for you to be a Woman's Man? You _are_ planning to sire an heir, are you not?"

"Oh, yes, of course."

Aragorn felt a little bewildered. Why _had_ Gandalf urged him to be a Man's Man?

"Well," Edwen Nana was saying briskly, "since the subject has come up, let us have a little chat about the eagles and the moths."

"Um, Edwen Nana, Mithrandir and I have already had a little chat about that."

"Mithrandir! Why, that old wizard doesn't know his staff from a hole in—from a hole," Edwen Nana finished lamely.

Aragorn seized the advantage.

"I understand _you_ know all about his staff, Edwen Nana!"

"I do know Mithrandir well," admitted Edwen Nana.

"_Very_ well."

"Fine. I admit it. I know him very well. But of course," she added triumphantly, "that means I am therefore superbly qualified to give you some advice about eagles and moths!"

"Perhaps not," argued Aragorn. "Mithrandir is a wizard; I am a Man. Perchance we are not entirely alike."

"I bathed you when you were a child," Edwen Nana reminded him. "Aye, and I have bathed you more recently"—Aragorn did not like being reminded of _that_—"Believe me, you and Mithrandir have the same parts. Same shape; roughly the same size."

Aragorn was instantly curious. _Roughly_ the same size? Who had the advantage?

"Um, Edwen Nana," he began cautiously, "as a seamstress, you are forever estimating the size of people in order to fit them."

"Ye-es," answered Edwen Nana, wondering at the sudden change of subject.

"You would not wish to sew a garment that is too small or too large."

"True, I would not. Although, if I do err, better to do so on the side of large rather than small."

"Exactly! When you sew leggings, you must accommodate, um, protuberances that may vary in size from one Man or Elf to the next, taking into account, too, that the protuberance in even one individual is itself liable to vary in size from time to time."

"True." Edwen Nana was smiling now. She thought she knew where these questions tended.

"Of course," she went on "when I am measuring Men or Elves or Dwarves for leggings, I am fitting them for daytime wear, so I am not overmuch concerned with those temporary size fluctuations. Besides, leggings can always be dispensed with if they become uncomfortably tight at a particular moment. In fact," she teased, "if I rightly recall the traditions relating to the subject, that is the recommended procedure when one is faced with such an exigency: 'Untie laces, pull down leggings, and discard. If you are traveling with a maiden, tend to your leggings first, then assist the maiden with her garments. If you are unable to follow these emergency instructions, please inform your captain, who will move you to another horse'. Yes, something along those lines, I believe."

"So," Edwen Nana continued, "when I am measuring someone, I do not usually pay much attention to the protuberance, and it generally stays out of the way during the fitting process. Of course," she ruminated, "Laiqua is _so_ very sensitive on the inside of his thighs, that when I run a string up his leg—"

"That's alright, Nana," Aragorn hastily interrupted. "I don't need to know about that!"

"Oh, but it _is_ funny. Laiqua blushes so when that happens! I do not know how he will ever manage to undress in front of an elleth. Hasn't Celaimîr been trying for centuries to maneuver him into the bush? So far all she has to show for it are some scratches on her arse—and she tells me they are from thorns and not from Laiqua's fingers!"

"Edwen Nana!"

"Well, whatever is the matter!? Mithrandir and Elrond, you should know, hope that _you_ are spending adequate time in the bush with Arwen. Aye, and Celeborn and Galadriel as well. They all of them hope you will use your time better than Laiqua has! And I am sure Arwen would rather be pricked by—"

"NANA!"

"Oh, very well," said Edwen Nana, reluctantly leaving off a subject that she found immensely interesting, not to mention amusing. "What is it you wish to ask me? Come. Enough beating around the bush."

"Nana!"

"My pardon. I meant no pun."

"Well," said Aragorn. "You have measured me for leggings; you have measured Mithrandir for leggings. Have you noticed anything, well, in terms of size? Ah, I was wondering if, um—"

"Oh, you are roughly the same size, if that's what you want to know—at least proportionately, that is."

"Proportionately?"

"You're a little taller and a little heavier, and those differences are reflected in the part that concerns you so. Of course," she mused, "that particular size doesn't matter."

"What!?"

"Oh, as an ordinary, everyday matter, 'tis a pitiful object when it just dangles there. Have you any idea how silly you males look most of the time? That's why clothes were invented, don't you know?"

"Clothes were invented to protect us from the elements," Aragorn declared indignantly.

"Oh, no, that wasn't the reason at all! It was because the females couldn't leave off laughing at the males."

"Oh," said Aragorn, crestfallen in the extreme.

Edwen Nana perceived an opening and went on the attack.

"That is why," she lectured Aragorn, "you must pay careful attention to how you dress. For your apparel is the tool with which you must compensate for your tool, if you catch my meaning."

"Is a large sword of any use?" asked Aragorn hopefully.

"Depends upon how you wield it," Edwen Nana replied. "However, you can't always be waving your sword about, can you? No, in most cases it is clothes that make the Man."

Aragorn grew very thoughtful after this conversation, and it is said that from this time forward the King of Gondor became much more conscious of his appearance, taking pains to wear clothes that were in repair and well-matched. In this, he would, of course, never be the equal of Legolas, for that Elf had been 'born with his hair braided', as the saying goes. Still, Arwen much appreciated the change, and mayhap it was not entirely coincidental that shortly after Edwen Nana's lecture, Arwen found herself to be carrying the future heir to the combined Kingdoms of Gondor and Arnor. Yes, indeed, clothes do make the Man—although it is not always necessary to be wearing them!


	4. Gandalf's Staff

**This was supposed to be a chapter in "Things Fall Apart," but Edwen Nana began to take over the story, and, well, the dialogue turned naughty until finally I decided it had better become an episode in "Hair Raising Adventures."  Actually, it is nowhere near as naughty as it _could_ have been.  Originally, I included a riff in which a dreaming Gandalf mutters, ahem, "Fireworks, Gandalf, fireworks."  But that sequence got a little bit (!) out of control and I cut it.**

**Thanks to the reviewers of the last episode (posted way back in May!): _Farflung_ (are you still out there?), _Melissa, Starlit Hope, Lynne2, Karri, SilentBanshee, Joee,_ and _Dragonfly_.**

**Beta'd**** by _Dragonfly_.**

Gandalf had had another hard week and was looking forward to the restorative powers of a good glass of Dorwinion wine.  "Thank the Valar it's Highdei!" he sighed gratefully as he rode on his borrowed horse toward Thranduil's Great Hall.  "Monendei I had that dreadful encounter with Gollum, a spider's web, and two Orcs; Trewesdei I found myself escaping out a tower window and twisting my ankle into the bargain; Hevensdei I spent slogging through brambles and briars; and Meresdei I was treed by wargs.  When I arrived at the Grey Havens, I was warned by Círdan that the course of a true wizard ne'er did run smooth, but, still, it would be nice if I could pass at least one week without being in peril of life and limb.  Ah, but here is the Hall!"

Gandalf dismounted from his steed a trifle stiffly.  The guards eyed him askance, as he was rather more dirty and ragged than usual, but he had been guided from the border of Southern Mirkwood by none other than Legolas' good friend Tathar, who proceeded to escort him past the dubious sentries.  Once inside, Tathar brought Gandalf to Gilglîr.

"Mithrandir," exclaimed Gilglîr, "we did not expect you."

"When have you ever expected me?" Gandalf cheerfully replied.

"Never, of course, but this time we _positively_ did not expect you because it was thought you were heading to Imladris."

"Yes, I was," agreed Gandalf, without explaining himself any further, of course.

"I suppose," continued Gilglîr, shaking his head and smiling, "that you would like to see Thranduil."

"If it wouldn't be too much trouble."

"I will go and announce you."

Shortly thereafter Gilglîr knocked upon the door of Thranduil's private chamber, where the King was also reveling in the fact that it was Highdei.  He had just poured himself a glass of wine and was leaning back upon a most comfortable settle.

"Mithrandir has just arrived," declared Gilglîr.

"Has he?  He wasn't expected, but I'm glad to hear it nonetheless.  I should like to see him at once."

"I think you will find his appearance rather remarkable," warned Gilglîr.

"Of course," said Thranduil airily.  "Being a wizard, he has always had a remarkable air about him."

"Oh, it's more than an air this time," the Seneschal assured him.

Thranduil waved his hand dismissively.

"Gilglîr, do bring him in.  I am most anxious to see him.  And then, if you would, fetch Legolas.  I know he will be glad to see his old friend and mentor."

"He'll see him alright," muttered Gilglîr, "more of him than I warrant he's ever seen before."  With that the Seneschal went off to do as he was bid.

Soon after, the doors to the presence chamber were flung open and a servant announced Gandalf, who came strolling in rather nonchalantly, considering that he still had a bit of a limp.  Thranduil came near dropping and breaking another wine glass.

"Mithrandir," he gasped, whatever has happened to you!?"

"Orcs have happened to me," Gandalf replied calmly.  "I would dearly love a glass of that wine, if it wouldn't be too much trouble."

Mutely, Thranduil handed him his own glass, which Gandalf drained.

"Ah," he sighed appreciatively as he set the glass down.  "Of all the elven realms, you set your table with the best wine."

Thranduil finally found his voice.

"Mithrandir, the last news I received of you, you were safe at Edoras, recuperating from an encounter with Orcs.  Only a few weeks ago Elrond and his Elves set off to retrieve you and escort you to Imladris to complete your convalescence.  I am not surprised that you are not in Elrond's company, for you are willful and I half suspected you'd give him the slip.  But I was far from expecting that you would show up on my doorstep in such a condition!"

"And what condition would that be?" said Gandalf calmly.

"Mithrandir, you have burrs in your beard, your hair is as tangled as a Dwarf's, your leggings scarcely do their service, and you are missing your tunic and surcoat altogether.  You bear a cloak that I see from its design is a borrowed one, so no doubt you have lost your own.  Moreover, your face is dirty, as are your fingernails."

Gandalf gazed at his hands.

"I do need a good wash," he admitted.

"I'll have Edwen Nana see to it," said Thranduil.

"Oh no!  Not Edwen Nana!" protested Gandalf.  "I have heard all about Edwen Nana!"

"Nevertheless," said Thranduil, who was now grinning mischievously, "in a case such as this, I think only Edwen Nana will do!" 

"Thranduil," Gandalf said humbly, "I beg of you: do not inflict Edwen Nana upon me!  Allow me the use of a cauldron and furnish me with spare clothes, and I swear to you that in a trice I shall resume my former appearance."

"That's not saying much," retorted Thranduil gleefully, "as your former appearance was itself fairly disreputable."

Fortunately for Gandalf, he did not have to reply to that observation, for Legolas arrived just then and launched himself at the wizard.

"Mithrandir, you were not expected!  We thought you would be at Rivendell by now.  I'm so glad you've come!"

"Yes," said Gandalf hastily, "and I have gone to a great deal of trouble to get here."  He smirked at Thranduil.

Legolas noticed Gandalf's appearance for the first time.

"By the Valar but you have!  I have never seen you looking so, so—rustic!"

"Rustic?  Yes, I like that, rustic."

The wizard rose to his feet.

"Legolas, I have need of a cauldron, a great quantity of warm water, soap, brushes, towels, and spare clothes."

"Oh, Edwen Nana will be glad to see to all that," Legolas replied promptly.

Thranduil laughed at the expression on Gandalf's face.

"All roads lead to Edwen Nana," he teased.  He nodded at Legolas.  "Go and fetch her, my son."

A little while later Edwen Nana bustled in.  She took one look at Gandalf and began to cluck indignantly.

"Filthier than ever Estel was!" she scolded.

"I hardly think that is possible," retorted Gandalf with all the dignity he could muster.

"Oh, yes, it is, Master Mithrandir, for Estel lacks a beard and therefore has one fewer spot where dirt can accumulate.  Considering your beard, and factoring in the difference in your sizes, pound for pound you are the grubbier."

"You will never refute her arguments, Mithrandir," laughed Legolas.  "You'd best get it over with."

Grumbling into his tangled beard, Gandalf followed Edwen Nana into a chamber where a cauldron had been filled with warm water.  She picked up a brush and eyed him expectantly.

"I am not removing my garments whilst you stand there," he spluttered.

"I don't see why not," she replied coolly, "as you are the better part of naked already."

"Nevertheless, I must maintain some semblance of dignity!"

"Very well.  I shall wait outside.  But don't even think of locking the door behind me.  It would be a futile effort on your part.  I have years of experience at picking locks, for elflings are forever locking themselves into cupboards and wardrobes and needs must be rescued."

"I assure you that I will not lay a hand upon the lock," Gandalf replied.

The minute the door had closed behind the nursemaid, Gandalf smiled.  "Won't lay a hand upon the lock, but then I won't have to," he chuckled.  With that he pointed his staff at the door and recited every charm he could recall for the sealing of doors, several of them uncommonly powerful.  At last he was quite sure that it would take a Vala to get into the chamber.  He stripped off the remnants of his clothes, and with a contented sigh he slipped into the warm water and reached for a bowl of soap and a brush.  On the other side of the door, Edwen Nana had commenced pounding, and then Gandalf heard the jiggling of a pin in the lock.  He blithely ignored these noises, and after awhile Edwen Nana gave up and went away.  "Score one for the wizard," Gandalf chortled.

Several hours later Gandalf stood woefully before the door.  Three times he had run through his stock of lock-countering charms, and still the door would not open.

"Either I have left one out, or I am not reciting them in the correct order," he muttered mournfully.  He racked his brains, trying to recall which sealing charm he had recited first, which second, and so on.  For the fourth time he chanted every unsealing spell he could remember in what he hoped was the right order.  He pushed upon the door.  No good.  He cast his staff to one side and slumped upon the floor, putting his head in his hands.  On the other side of the door, Edwen Nana spoke.

"Master Mithrandir, do you require some assistance in exiting the room?"

"Yes, Edwen Nana, but I am afraid that there is naught you can do."

"Oh, I think that there is.  It is merely necessary that you speak the magic word."

"But I have been speaking magic words," cried Gandalf in frustration.  "Dozens of them!"

"None of them the right one.  Surely you must have been taught _the_ magic word."

The magic word?  The magic word?  Gandalf was tempted to use his staff to literally cudgel his brains.

"Saes?" he said at last, as hesitantly as any elfling.

"Yes!  'Please' is indeed the magic word.  Now try the door."

Gandalf placed his hand upon the door, and it swung open easily upon its well-oiled hinges, revealing a triumphant Edwen Nana on the other side.  Gandalf stared at her in awe.

"I did not know that you were an enchantress," he said, amazed.

"Did you not?" she said loftily.  "So much the worse for you!  You had better come along now if you expect to get any dinner.  Your hair is dreadfully untidy, but 'tis too late to do anything about that, I suppose."

Meekly, Gandalf followed Edwen Nana to the dining hall, all the while puzzling over the source of Edwen Nana's powers.

"I never saw her amongst the Maiar," he mused, "and when I was told of the other wizards who were being sent to Middle Earth, I never remember hearing her name.  She certainly hasn't got a ring, or if she does, she keeps it well hidden, for she eschews bodily adornment of any kind, although—of course!—she has a neat and cleanly appearance that is not without its appeal."

Still puzzled, Gandalf arrived at the table, where he was seated by Legolas so that mentor and pupil could catch up one with one another.

"Legolas," Gandalf ventured at last, "Edwen Nana is somewhat—remarkable—is she not?"

"Oh, yes," agreed Legolas.  "No one can match her for sewing and embroidery, and so good she is with younglings that she has almost bewitched the elflings hereabouts."

"Exactly!  She bewitches them!  Have you ever considered how she manages to do so?"

"No, but the cause is not far to seek.  She is of a giving nature; moreover, she has had centuries of experience in caring for little ones, including, I might mention, five very trying years in charge of me.   Small wonder that she is so skillful!"

Gandalf shook his head.

"There must be more to it than that!"

"I think not, Mithrandir, but why the sudden interest in Edwen Nana?"

"No reason," mumbled Gandalf.  "Just curious, is all."

Legolas gave the wizard an odd look but let the matter drop.

After dinner the company repaired to a room that was the Greenwood equivalent of Elrond's Hall of Fire, there to sing and converse.  Tathar approached Edwen Nana, who happened to be standing near Gandalf.

"Edwen Nana," he called, "did that wedge serve your purpose?"

"Yes, thank you, Tathar," she replied, turning hastily away, but he called after her.

"I still do not understand, Nana, why you would need a wedge to keep your chamber door from slamming shut.  The Great Hall is well-aired, with numerous ventilation shafts, but, still, one would not call its corridors breezy!"

Edwen Nana hastily retreated from the room, but Gandalf pursued her into one of the corridors, which, he smugly noted, was indeed decidedly lacking inbreeziness.

"Madam, a word with you!"

Reluctantly, Edwen Nana stopped and turned, her face betraying a slight flush.

"So," crowed Gandalf, "my unsealing charms had succeeded!  The door was not in fact locked, but _you_ had blocked the door.  No 'magic word' was in fact necessary."

"Would you have gotten out without uttering it?" retorted Edwen Nana.

This gave Gandalf pause.  He had to admit that Edwen Nana had been very much in control of the situation.  Ergo, the 'magic word' had indeed been necessary.

"Well," he spluttered, "but it wasn't _really_ a magic word."

"It unlocks more doors than any word I know."

"Yes, well, but that would be speaking figuratively."

"Know you not that sometimes the greatest truths are those that are expressed in similes and metaphors?"

Since he himself had been known to rely upon such tropes, Gandalf could hardly argue with her.  "I had better abandon the battle," he thought to himself.  As he did so, he ruefully realized that this last thought had been, yes, a metaphor.  He spoke very cautiously.

"Madam, for your services today, I am in your debt."

Edwen Nana grinned saucily.  "Right," thought Gandalf, "potentially another metaphor."

"Ah, Madam, I thank you for your assistance, and if I can ever repay, uh, requite you in some way, do not hesitate to ask."

"So careful a speaker," teased Edwen Nana.  "Be sure to take as good a care of your staff as you do your tongue!"

By now Gandalf was exquisitely attuned to any and all possible metaphors, so he stared at Edwen Nana suspiciously.  He tried to answer with the greatest of care.

"I always handle my staff carefully," he said.  "No! I mean, I don't!"

"You don't handle your staff carefully?  For shame, Master Mithrandir!"

"I mean," said Gandalf miserably, "I take good care of my staff.  No! That's not what I mean, either!"

"Master Mithrandir, if you cannot take care of your staff, I shall be very glad to take care of it for you."

This last statement proved to be the straw that broke the camel's back, although Gandalf would have probably said 'the stick that broke the oliphaunt's back', as he had no knowledge of camels.  Letting out a wail that a Ringwraith would have envied, the wizard fled down the hall, robe billowing behind him.

"Whatever was the matter with Mithrandir?" exclaimed an astonished Legolas, who had come running out at the sound of the wizard's wail.

"Can't handle his staff, apparently," Edwen Nana said insouciantly.

"Of course he can handle his staff," Legolas retorted indignantly.  "He takes very good care of it!"

"Does he?  Never plays with it?"

"Play with it!  The very idea!  A wizard's staff is like a carpenter's tool or a soldier's weapon.  One does not play with such a thing."

"Oh, it's a thing now, is it?"

"Well, of course it's a thing, Nana.  As it is an object, it is a thing."

"Legolas," said Edwen Nana fondly, "you are _such_ an innocent.  Betake yourself and your own weapon to Mithrandir, and do tell him that, should he ever want his shaft polished, pray do not hesitate to ask."

"You mean his staff," corrected Legolas.

"That, too," said Edwen Nana cheerfully.

Legolas shook his head in bewilderment at Edwen Nana's peculiar message but did as he was bidden.  Reader, it is surely is a pity that Gandalf's reaction to the message was never recorded.  I know that_ I_ should have liked to have heard what he said—assuming, of course, that he was capable of saying anything at all!


End file.
